Voice of Heaven and Hell
by Ella O'hara
Summary: A continuation of THE FATHERLESS CHILD. There is scandal rampant in the de chagney house, and erik is the root of it [?] why dont ec ever want to see each other again? Oh, drama!
1. Default Chapter

Does anybody here know what a question mark means? It means that there's a possibility of a sequel, and here we are. I still have stuff to say. _I'm_ actually curious as to what happens to them!

Ch.1: The End ?

_When their lips parted, he strode through the mirror, not looking back. " Have a nice life, Vicomtess." Was his parting statement, " Because I'm sure as hell not going to be a part of it. Just know that I love you and will never stop loving you. Worry not about Delli. The angel of music has her under his wing."_

As she watched him go, Christine could have sworn that her wedding ring fell right off her finger. The gold band hit the floor with an eerie thud, coinciding with the closing of the mirror. The room swayed dangerously beneath her feet. She wanted to bang on the mirror and weep until the world went away, but she knew he would never return. His ego was much too fragile.

Trembling like a leaf in the wind, she put her hand to her heart and walked trancelike to the waiting Raoul. It was hard to believe she would never see either of them again. Her husband nuzzled her neck, calling for the cabdriver to get the lead off. The trembling would not stop, but got worse.

" Christine, is there something wrong? You seem ill." Raoul inquired, concerned. She mumbled excuses, turning to stare out the window. It was hours before she realized that her wedding ring was still on the floor of her dressing room, but she didn't care. Her mind was wandering elsewhere. It was not alone.

As Delight waited in the boat, she swirled her finger around in the inky water, bored. This made absolutely no sense when first thought about. For a mere child of five, she had this figured out pretty well. Papa loved Christine, and she was already married. It didn't take a moron to figure it out.

After about five minutes, heavy footsteps stormed her way, announcing her father's return. She was preparing to make some snappy complaint when the look on her father's face rendered her speechless. She had never seen such a look on his half-concealed visage. It was a cross between unnamable rage and overwhelming grief. To tell the truth, it frightened young Delight to the marrow of her bones.

Her father said nothing, stepping heavily into the dinghy. The girl sat perfectly still, not fidgeting as usual. It was odd, the silence. There was usually something to say or argue about, and now there was nothing to be said. It was unnecessary to utter a syllable.

Then, without warning, Her papa dropped the rowing stick and sat down next to the child, putting his arm around her. She took his chin in her tiny hands and inspected him much like a professional physician. He looked positively wretched, but attempted a weak smile. He had to be strong for her. Somehow, life would go on. And so it did.


	2. Never the End

Ch.2: Never the End

Time passed too slowly for the Vicomtess de Chagney, but every day melted into the next without a feasible end in sight, surprisingly. Every day, Christine told herself that she was happy, that this was the proper life for her. She performed her social duties in a happy yet forced manner, and nobody ever thought anything to be wrong with her. Raoul was the same he had been for five years, faithful like a puppy dog and her best friend. No wait, this wasn't true. Her best friend had been with her since the hour she arrived in the opera house, much longer than Raoul. She only wished that she could talk to him, to see Delight again. If only it weren't impossible.

One day, when Raoul was out on political business, she stole around the house, checking to see if any of the servants were lurking about. Finding herself alone, she began to sing a shaky version of the song Erik had taught her when they were both still in their teens. Her voice gradually became surer and soon the whole house was filled with the beautiful music. With the volume of her tone, her spirits lifted themselves out of their fragile state. Maybe it was the extra energy singing gave her, but she hadn't felt this happy in months.

Even though it had been so many years ago, she knew the song as if it were a part of her soul:

Summer days and summer eves 

_With all that the dark bereaves _

_Wandering without a friend_

_Wandering, searching for the end_

_With none of the solace_

_And an unbearable cross_

_We needed each other, to watch, to guard_

_To be there until the end._

As she sang, she picked out the quick, precise ballet steps from an opera she'd participated in as a sixteen year-old. Suddenly the years began to melt away, all the pain and misery going with them. Even though the song and dance combination made her happy, it seemed empty. Well, it wasn't her song to enjoy alone. It was _his _song too. _He _had taught it to her. A hand suddenly lay on her shoulder, startling her. It was Raoul.

He wore a very pained expression, as if he'd been slapped hard in the face. How long had he been watching her sing? Judging by his forcedly chintzy smile, the whole time. She stopped dead in her tracks, adopting an expression that said she was glad to see him. He seemed to see right through it.

" Good evening, Christine." His voice sounded cracked, as if he might sob. She cinched her robe quickly. "D-did you want to go out for supper? I figured we should give Sophie a night off." The cracked tone was gone, replaced by his usual upbeat demeanor. Christine nodded quickly, shuffling off to her wardrobe. Her spirits were low again. She knew for a fact that Raoul knew who taught her that song. It must have pained him terribly.

With her sudden jolt of depression, she padded back to where Raoul was sitting awkwardly in the armchair in the parlor. " Actually Raoul, I think I'd rather not go out tonight. I-I have to pay a visit to an old friend." For a moment he was silent, then he swallowed whatever misgivings he was feeling. " All right, then. Say hello to your friend for me." She quickly gave him a shoulder hug and raced off to get her things together. There was only one person who made her feel completely better. Raoul sighed deeply as he watched her carriage race off into the early evening. He loved her so much, but she never seemed to want to hear it.

" So tell me again, he caught you singing his song?" Meg inquired, sipping her cup of tea. The friends had decided to camp out near the catwalks for the night. There was so much to catch up on, for they had not had a long time to be the children they were for over five years. Christine once again told her story, pausing to repeat the part about the sadness in Raoul's voice. " Well, let's talk of happier things now." The woman stated after her story was through. She had not come here to pull Meg into her state of melancholy. Meg pulled a blanket tighter around herself, snatching one of the finger sandwiches from the platter.

"Well," she garbled through a mouthful of toast and cucumbers " I think a man is trying to court me. Mama's not happy about it one bit. I've never strayed an arm's length away from her." She and Christine squealed with delight. "Oh Meg, I'm so happy for you! What is his name?" It was fun to feel like a young girl again.

Meg swallowed her mouthful of sandwich, doing a little adagio with her right hand. " Darryl." She finally said. "It's a terribly common name, but he is so sweet!"

They talked for hours until they both fell into the stupor of an enjoyable sleep. Nobody had seen them come up there, but Christine could never shake the feeling of a ubiquitous being watching the pair of them converse.

It had been completely by accident, but he had wished he had never found them. Erik had been prowling about the building, searching for unguarded valuables to add to his subterranean hideout. He had left Delight asleep on the Persian rug before the fireplace, for there was no promise of soon return to be kept. The night had been his.

When he stumbled across the pair of sleeping girls, his first reaction was that it was a dream, an elaborate hallucination. With further investigation, it startled him that the two were both very much real and alive. What was she doing here anyway?

As Meg rolled over onto the platter of sandwiches, Christine scooted closer to the edge of the catwalks, where a grisly death below awaited. When she came dangerously close to toppling to the stage below, Erik let out a gasp. Even if he could never see her again, there was no way he could let her die.

Picking her up as gently as he could, the masked man placed the girl on a safer spot away from those wooden death traps. He removed his cape and put it under her neck as a crude pillow. She looked so small lying there, slumbering peacefully. Before he could stop himself, he placed a light kiss on her forehead before he stole off into the dark again.

The next morning when Christine awoke, she recalled having the strangest dream of being lifted to safety by a heavenly protector. It had just seemed to be a wild marvel of overtired imagination, but when she found the black-as-night cloak beneath her head, she was at a loss for words.


	3. Home once more

Ch. 3: Home Once More

As Raoul sat awake that night, he could not shake the sensation of jealously in the pit of his stomach. His eyes itched with fatigue, but he reminded himself that he could not allow himself to drift off to sleep. He wanted to make sure Christine got home safely.

It was impossible to forget, to ignore, as much as he would have liked to. She had been thinking about _him_, which drove Raoul up the wall.

It was perfectly ludicrous. It made no sense whatsoever. Every day, Raoul would do his best to be a good husband, to avoid conflict and be as romantic as possible. He thought he was doing everything right, but still, Christine only returned his actions halfheartedly. The troubled young man buried his face in a cushion, falling into a fitful state of sleep, as if the frippery would somehow give him the answers he was searching for.

When she returned the next morning, Christine seemed to be faraway and dreamy. Meg had walked her home, giving a small jump at the astonishing sight of the abject Vicomte snoring on the parlor loveseat. She timidly shook him to consciousness. He awoke with a start, persisting his nonsensical ravings. When he finally managed to form a sentence, he said breathlessly, " Where is Christine? Is she all right?" Meg suddenly giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth, astonished by her own brashness. " Sh-she's quite fine," she managed to choke out, " She's better than ever. I suppose she just has her head in the clouds. Last night was probably very…enlightening for her." She spoke until her entire dialogue was consumed by fits of laughter. Raoul stared at her as if the girl had just sprouted antlers. Enlightening? What the hell did that mean?

" Meg, you are clearly overtired. I suggest you return home and find some rest." She stopped laughing at this and stood as straight as limits would allow her. " I only speak the truth Raoul, " she said her most sober voice, " I will leave now. Go to her. She's in the ballroom." At this Meg stalked airily out the door and down the deserted street. Following the girl's suggestion, he rose and walked trancelike to the ballroom.

Alas, Christine was there, waltzing to the beat of some inaudible tune. She had a big ridiculous smile on her face, humming softly as she danced. When she caught sight of the confused Vicomte, she snatched his hands and began leading him to her tango. This was unusual, for she had been moody and withdrawn lately. She stopped humming and gave Raoul a hug. It was truly a mind-boggling thing to be married to her.

" It's nice to be home. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take a short nap. Can't have me looking exhausted for that dinner of yours tonight." With the finish of her statement, she trotted off to her chamber, leaving Raoul scratching his head in her wake.

Before she left, he noticed she picked up a black bundle from an accent table. She draped it around her shoulders, and the bundle unfurled to an elegant black cape. Before she left his sight, a rush of pink came to her cheeks. Raoul's eyes fell to the marble floor. Suddenly being passed out on the sofa didn't seem like such a bad idea. Anything to get his mind off this eating jealousy and lovesickness, he would do.

" No, Delli, it's a slur from c natural to b flat in the first measure, then a crescendo to mezzo forte in the second." The child stared at the music blankly, cradling her beloved violin in her tiny arms. Erik knew he was doing a horrible job of explaining the piece he'd written just for her learning, but there was little to complain about with his patience. Delight plucked the music from the makeshift stand and studied it closely. " Does the crescendo begin with a set of sixteenth notes and end with an eighth?" She said slowly, as though comprehending while she formed the words. Erik smiled inwardly. She was catching on quickly.

" Precisely. Now, give it another try." It was getting late and he could tell both of them were fading fast. As his daughter picked out the notes of the simple tune, her face lit up with triumph. With this new expression, she looked like a whole new person. In fact, she looked just like…Christine. Erik cocked his head and squinted while he looked and the intoning girl. It wasn't hard to believe. The uncanny resemblance had been there since the day she was born.

When she finished the piece, she looked at her father expectantly, waving a small hand before his unfocused eyes. He came back to earth with a start. " Yes, then, you did splendidly, child. Now go to bed. I have work to do." Delight hopped onto his lap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scuttling off to her cot.

As said, the masked man sat down at his organ and took out a quill and some parchment. Strange thing was, he didn't write a note all night. He just sat there, staring at things unseen by anybody who was not sick with love and grief at the same time. This was how most of his designated working nights were spent. Now, the music somehow refused to come. All inspiration was nearly lost.


	4. Publicity is Never a Good Thing

Ch.4: Publicity Is Never a Good Thing

Being a woman of proper French parentage and raising, Gabriel de Fassine was expected to keep her nose out of business that she was not supposed to be witnessing. She did, most of the time. She told the truth, most of the time. She was never caught with her dirty gossip, all of the time. And when the invitation the de Chagney's annual charity ball arrived in the mail, she knew that it was simply necessary to bring a story that would bring the party crashing down about the de Chagney's pampered ears. It just so happens a lie was not necessary. There was a goldmine of rumors just itching to be started from the moment she saw Christine walking home with another man's cloak around her shoulders.

Gabriel smirked evilly when she saw the Vicomte de Chagney saunter through the door, late to his own revelry. Christine was on his elbow, looking stunning in a ruby-red frock set off by a diamond pendant, while her husband was adorned in his perfunctory navy suit. She appeared to be relaxed and affable, chatting smoothly with other guests. Raoul seemed to wear the same emotion, but kept glancing nervously around, as if expecting something to pounce on him. _Poor soul,_ thought Gabriel as she continued to survey the couple, _he's got no idea that his wife's gallivanting off with other men. Better change that._

The woman gently removed herself from the arm of her nameless date, rubbing her gloved hands together. There was work to be done, but it had to be done discreetly so nobody would blow the whistle on her. She smoothed her sapphire-blue dress, making her look as innocent as she was wicked. Gabriel moseyed up behind a gathering of older women, squeezing herself between their shoulders. They were bantering idly about other unimportant topics, such as who was expecting and who was making what political decision. She tapped one of the younger girls on the shoulder, glancing around with a bored look. The entire group fell quiet and all eyes were on her.

" Say, ladies," she whispered, " what would you say if I told you miss de Chagney over there hasn't been entirely…faithful?" an eerie silence fell over the group, but then a barrage of questions erupted. " Are you serious? How can you be sure? Oh, poor Raoul! He gave himself heart and soul to that girl!" A few of the eavesdroppers hissed in unison. Gabriel played with a tress of her raven hair as the interrogation continued. " Tell us more!" Gabriel shook her head, a collective groan rising from the group. " I just wanted to know what you would say if I told you. Say, I bet Countess le Reve might know more. Go ask her!" The gathering immediately skittered off to find the suggested source of continued gossip. Gabriel returned to her date, clinging to his elbow as she watched the same awkward silence spread. Her work was done.

The rumor spread like wildfire through a thicket of dry brush. People who had been waltzing in the middle of the marble floor stopped, all whispering to their partners. A lone dancer yanked on the trousers of a resting cellist and murmured the news in his ear. Within moments everybody was at their leisure half-heartedly, all staring at Raoul and Christine. Nobody said more than a few mumbled words to them, and even the string quartet was watching them curiously. Raoul was now looking around confusedly and Christine was now a hue to match her dress. While this was happening, Gabriel was doubled up with laughter behind a potted palm, admiring her handiwork from afar.

Before long, one of Raoul's friends walked up to him and whispered something in his already scarlet ear. Earlier than he could react completely, Christine turned and bolted from the ballroom, out the front door, down the street, and far away from where they could find her. She knew perfectly well what Gabriel told everybody, and she knew Raoul would be crushed. Having somebody disappointed with you was worlds worse than having somebody angry with you. Before long, she ended up at the docks, and she was a sight for sore eyes when the rain began to pour down in icy torrents. Frustrated with life, she sat down at the end of the dock and cried. Sailors watched the figure in the gorgeous red dress weep her eyes out, not taking care to gawp.

Christine wiped her eyes on her now soaked gloved, staring into the murky water below. What could she do now? She could never face Raoul again, and there was no place for her at the opera house. Suddenly, caught up in her own outpour of emotion and the frigid rain, she slipped from the edge of the dock into the dark water, hitting her head on a boat tether. As blackness consumed her, the same old song came back and haunted her, like carnival music playing backwards.

_…He'll always be there singing song in my head…_

Before the world faded away, the girl felt two strong arms seize her and pull her upward. She wasn't sure if it was just some lout who had seen her slip, or if it was an angel taking her to the afterlife, and she wasn't sure if entirely mattered anymore.


	5. Succor

Ch.5: Succor

" Miss, are you alright?" A voice swam in her mind like lazy fish in a muddy pond, confused. A douse of water then hit Christine full in the face, and sent her sitting bolt upright. It was incredibly odd, the scenario that was unfolding before her. About twenty sailors had crowded around her, all dropping their burlap sacks full of belongings elsewhere. A coarse jacket was beneath her neck, and another was draped over her freezing body. She was still wearing the red dress. The sailors were speaking in hushed tones, muttering indecipherable messages to each other. When she stirred, they all sighed a collective sigh of relief and began chattering loudly, all trying to ask her questions. Not one succeeded in making sense.

" Let me see her! I know her!" A man pushed his way through the passel of saviors and knelt at Christine's side. She was positive that she had never met him in her life. The anonymous man removed his cap politely. " Pardon me, madame, but I believe you might have heard of me. My name is Darryl, Meg Giry's, erm, friend? I recognized you from Meg's description." She saw a tinge of pink come to his cheeks when he said the word " friend", his red hair nearly flaming. So this was Meg's suitor! Christine nodded her head, too tired to speak. Darryl jammed his cap back on his head. " Is there anywhere you can go, miss?" the question seemed absurd, but it brought tears to her eyes. There was nowhere she could go right now. Before she could shake her head, another voice called out from behind the crowd.

" Get out of the way, you insolent swine! That's my daughter!" Christine scanned the crowd for whoever might have been yelling. Madame Giry shoved three of the men to the side, hitting each with her shopping basket she was carrying. The wilted vegetables spilled out over the dock, rutabagas and carrots amok.

" Christine, what happened?" The girl looked up at her surrogate mother, her blue eyes swimming with tears. Darryl removed his cap again, ever polite. " She fell off the dock miss. Old Russell over there saved her." He jerked his thumb toward a ruddy man, soaked from head to toe but still trying to light a damp cigarette. Madame Giry drew herself to her full height and looked Darryl in the eyes. He actually took a step back.

" And who are you? Her nurse?" The question sounded accusatory rather than inferring. " M-my name is Darryl McDough. You must be Meg's mother." Madame Giry looked positively prepared to burst with vehemence. " Oh, so you must be Meg's friend then. Nice to meet you, boy." Much to Christine's surprise, the elderly woman didn't have anything scathing to say to him. It was so unlike her not to be constantly haughty.

Cecile nodded evenly and then returned to her usual state of constantly barking orders. The sailors looked almost afraid of her. " You, help Christine to my carriage, and you, pick up my vegetables! Don't just stand there like a bunch of morons!" The large men mulled around doing their tasks, watching the women from the corners of their eyes. After all of the vegetables had been gathered and Christine was loaded in her carriage, the man with the cigarette in his mouth came up to the buggy and rapped on the door. " Are you Christine Daae?" He asked, his words slightly slurred. " I once was." Christine answered smartly. Russell leered. " I was on the expedition with your husband, Raoul, Madame. He made himself sick over you. It was either the sweetest thing I've ever seen or the most disgusting. You are lucky to have a man like him." He limped off with these parting words, leaving Christine to her dilemma.

When Madame Giry climbed into the carriage, a steady drizzle was falling. They thanked the sailors again, giving their fond regards to Darryl before the crowd dissolved. The elder Giry looked at Christine quizzically. " Now, tell me what happened, child." No words would come, but a lump rising in her throat brought the whole story rushing back. The whole way home, she cried her heart out on Madame Giry's bosom, feeling more broken than when she had to give up Delight, than when she had said her final goodbye to Erik. This was the closest thing to a mother's comfort she could get, and she was never more thankful for it.

Maybe it was a trick of the mind, but the moon seemed to be getting farther and farther away from him every night, like a dream too big to be fulfilled. Erik was currently sulking on the roof of the opera house amongst the highest spires where even the upkeep was too frightened to go. Delight was sitting in his lap, snoring softly as she chewed sleepily on her thumb. He brought her there every night, just to show her what the world above was like. Alas, he thought it would fascinate her, but she usually fell asleep within minutes, much to his amusement.

It was painful to think about how one day Delight would grow weary of her subterranean existence and want to venture beyond the darkness. He could never follow her. The day this would happen was inevitable, but it was easier to pretend that it would never come. To be left alone again would be much too excruciating, but he knew he couldn't stop her if she wanted to go. Her temper was much too fiery, her spirit much too free. Besides, he loved her too much to keep her against her will. It was an unforgettable lesson he learned with keeping liberated things against their will.

A strange clattering shook the masked man from his half-delirious stupor. He tucked the little girl beneath his arm to go investigate who would be out at such a dreadful hour of the night. Erik hid behind a large stone Pegasus to avoid detection. You could never be too careful with the night crowd. He saw Madame Giry clamber out of the carriage, toting a basket of withered vegetables. The phantom almost turned and left, unimpressed by this phenomenon, but stopped dead when he saw Christine step out of the carriage. She was wrapped in a brown blanket and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. He felt his heart go out to the wretched girl and instantly regretted it. They were never supposed to meet again.

Before she entered the grand foyer of the sleeping opera house, Christine chanced a theory and glanced up at the roof. She choked down a gasp, making a strange gargling noise. Two dark figures were hiding behind a statue. Once she had gasped, they instantly disappeared. She was unsure of whether or not it had been a hallucination, a wishful dream and would probably never know that it was very much real.


	6. what is she doing here?

Ch.6: "What is she doing here?"

As quickly as humanely possible, Erik raced back to his lair and gently put Delight in her cot before he sped off again to find the shocking visitors. His mind was awash with questions, and they were coming too quickly to be spoken properly._What is she doing here? Why is she not with Raoul at his charity dinner? _Some of the answers were too difficult to conjure up at the moment, so he was fully intent on asking Madame Giry, For he knew she would never allow him to see Christine in such a sorry state.

After slipping past several lumbering drunks, usually a waste of time within itself, he found himself concealed in the shadowy area next to Madame Giry's room. Erik paused for a moment, then knocked softly on the door. Although he would never admit it to anyone while alive, he was somewhat afraid of Cecile.

The door cracked, and two gray eyes peered out at his dark silhouette. They narrowed, and before he could utter a word, the door slammed in his face. " Who was that, Mama?" He heard Meg's voice and then something like a muffled sobbing sound. Christine was in there.

" I'm not going to go away, you can be sure of that." The masked man smiled devilishly when he distinctly heard the sound of an abrupt movement upsetting a large piece of furniture. Madame Giry slipped quicker than a cat out the door, quickly shutting the door so the girls wouldn't see him. He bowed mockingly. " At your service, Madame."

She looked prepared to slap him, and then stopped herself. Erik tapped his foot impatiently, awaiting an explanation. " What are you doing here?" Giry hissed like an angry goose. Her companion sputtered in indignation. " I should be asking you the same thing. Why is _she _here?" Madame Giry then turned a bright shade of scarlet, filling her lungs like a bullfrog. Erik was here for an explanation, and an explanation he got.

After Madame Giry slipped out the door, Meg continued to stroke Christine's head like one soothing a disconcerted kitten. The troubled girl was currently sobbing into a tear-stained pillow, but abruptly stopped when she heard the man's voice, a deep, velvety baritone, on the opposite side of the door. AS much as she wanted to see him, it was certainly nothing short of hilarious when her stand-in mother began to scream at him. She could only imagine the look on his face, for she knew for a fact that he didn't like being yelled at by anybody, but respected Madame Giry, so he was probably torn between ego and morale.

" You vile creature. I might as well strangle you with my bare hands! Have you any idea what you've _done_?" Christine had to fight from letting out a laugh when the thud of two heavy boots move away from the apoplectic woman.

" Tell me, monsieur," Giry muttered venomously, " what did you do last time you saw her?" Meg fidgeted with the corner of a blanket as the silence between the pair opposite the door grew. " If you must know, I saved her life. The silly girl was about to roll right off the catwalks." Meg saw Christine balk visibly. Another faint tapping noise arose from Madame Giry's tiny slipper. " Anything else worth telling? I see you are missing you cloak." At this, Christine put her hand over her open mouth, shocked to silence.

" And I gave her my cloak for a pillow. Is that so implausible?" Now the anger in his voice was rising steadily. " You damn well better believe it is. She wore it home and now there are rumors and a gigantic scandal about an illicit affair outside her marriage. She is distraught because she can't go back to Raoul."

_Thud._ The masked man plopped heavily onto the floor. " I do seem to have a knack for starting these things, now do I? Ruining her life seems to be my specialty. First Delli, now this…" A loud smacking noise sounded, along with an indignant groan. Madame Giry had indeed slapped him.

" What the hell was that for?" He moaned, rubbing the exposed, red side of his face. The girls could practically see Madame Giry puffing herself up like a peacock. " That, old bean, was for everything. It's your fault she's here in the first place."

This clearly touched a nerve. " Yes, I suppose I am the one to blame for this whole…ordeal. I'll be going, for I know I'm not wanted. Delight needs me, anyhow." Meg and Christine had their ears pressed up against the door, listening until his footsteps died away. When Cecile came back into the room, she was still flushed with victory.

She cradled Christine's head in her hands, murmuring nonsensical comforts. Before they fell asleep, she heard Madame Giry say," Don't fret, child. We'll have no more of that troublesome Erik around here." She remembered responding, bur forgot what had been said. For the rest of the night, she was left hoping that she had complied with Madame Giry instead of saying what she really felt.


	7. Watched by the Angels

Ch.7: Watched by the Angels

Raoul de Chagney laid nearly facedown on the chess table, the pieces mercilessly poking him in the eye. He was still in his clothes from the ball, but looked as if he'd been wearing the suit in all elements for months. The maid, Sophie, stayed out of the way as much as possible, drawing close only to give him food, for he had not the initiative to find food himself.

He rubbed his face roughly, as if he were trying to get rid of the ashen pallor that had taken over his complexion. It would never go away, along with that unspeakable shock that had settled over his mind like a cloud ever since his chum had whispered those hellish words in his ear. All he could think about was Christine. The monstrous thoughts of another man holding her in his arms were branded on his brain. Here he was, waiting until his wife got home, to beg her forgiveness for a crime he didn't commit.

This would all work out fine in the end, wouldn't it?

Moments later, when Sophie entered the room with a platter of delicious breakfast foods did he snap back to unforgiving reality. " Sophie," He moaned, " What did I do wrong? Where did I slip up that drove_ her _to do this?" The servant looked positively petrified, but managed to fabricate an answer in her heavy Irish brogue. " Ah, sir, you did nothing wrong. It was only her decision if she wanted to do the same." Raoul blinked at these wise words and gently took the tray from her pudgy hands. " Thank you, Sophie. Take the day off. I have some thinking to do."

Sophie grinned her nearly toothless grin and hurried out the door, wrestling with her threadbare cloak all the way. Raoul landed heavily onto the couch and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, until a loud knock sounded at the door. " Come in." The Vicomte waved stupidly at the threshold.

A trail of heavy footsteps startled him, and he looked up to find his old comrade, Russell, doubled up with booming laughter. " Russell! So, erm, pleased to see you again. What's so funny?" Raoul's friend banged a gigantic fist on the chess set, sending pieces flying into the air.

"You, that's what's so funny! You mope about like some lovesick adolescent!" Raoul's hazel eyes narrowed in silent fury. " Christine just ran off in the wake of a rumor." Russell said nothing, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly. Upon letting out a sickening cloud of smoke, he choked and sputtered, " Christine? Oh, dear god. Do you know where she is right now?" Raoul perked up like a terrier. " No…"

Russell puffed out his chest triumphantly. " I saved her life, monsieur. The poor chicken slipped off the dock and hit her head." Raoul jumped to his feet at once. " Is she alright? Where can I find her?" The poor man snatched the front of Russell's jacket, nearly hysterical. " I'm not sure, but a noisy old woman came and took her away. Disagreeable, creature, she was. Wore a ridiculous black bonnet." He furrowed his brow in mock confusion. Raoul realized at once that she was with Madame Giry. Now, Christine was at the opera house, possibly with_ him._

Before he could begin his lament, Russell produced two large bottles of Irish whiskey from his pockets, passing one casually to Raoul. The man studied the amber liquid thoughtfully, then uncorked the bottle and took a huge swig. Russell did the same and raised his ale in a toast. " To old friends," He said with a hint of a slur, " and to the sweet relief of brewski." It was a weak toast, but Raoul accepted and continued to down his drink, wanting to lose himself from the jealousy and sadness.

Delight sat on the floor of the lair, lazily drawing on a scrap of parchment. She knew it was early in the morning, and it was so unlike her father to be caught out in the daytime. As she continued to blot the paper with the red ink, a violent splashing sound aroused her annoyance. The girl threw down her drawing and scampered into the main chamber to see what all the fuss was about.

Sure enough, it was her papa, and did he ever look angry. No, it wasn't just angry, it was confused also. He didn't seem to notice her, but stormed right into his room and bolted the door promptly. Delight rolled her eyes. She was sure that somebody had once before told her that her father was a drama queen. Who had said that? Oh yes, It was Christine.

The girl sat down on the stone floor and curled herself into a tiny ball. _Christine._ Although she didn't know why their meetings had ended, or why they had been introduced in the first place, Delight missed her in an odd way.

With her father stewing in the next room like a pouting child, She decided to do something that was forbidden to her: venture beyond the lake.

Delight took the gigantic oar and clumsily began to paddle away from her home. The mildew-covered walls didn't frighten her, for she was used to them. When she reached the opposite stone bank. She tied the gondola in a prim knot to an iron ring and scurried up the staircase to the strange, exciting world above.


	8. Missing

Ch.8: Missing

Meg sat indolently at a long forgotten desk of her mother's, absently drawing pictures in the ghostly film of dust. She had been assigned to clean out storage room after playing a rather cruel joke on Jammes. The other ballerinas had tittered endlessly when she was pulled out of the studio by the ear. Although her teacher was in fact her mother, there was no leniency._ My lord, and the rat wasn't even that big,_ she thought as the amount of work seemed to double right before her eyes.

Meg was about to take a break when a tiny hand yanked at the hem of her dress. Much to her surprise, little Delight stood there, primly brushing dust from her faded blue frock. The five year old was tapping her foot in annoyance. " Hello, dear!" Meg trilled just a bit too happily, " shouldn't you be with your, erm, father?" The girl let out an indignant sigh. " He's acting foolish right now, not that it's any of your concern. I'm looking for Christine. Any idea where she is?" Meg's false smile flickered for a moment at these sharp words, but it snapped back in a moment.

" She isn't here. She's…out." Meg felt very uncomfortable. She knew Christine was this girls' mother, but it wasn't to be told. It was incredibly depressing to keep such a secret from such a visibly needy creature.

Delight sat down on the filthy floor, an alien upset look in her eye. " D-do you know where I can find her? I miss her terribly." Meg felt like crying. She sat down beside her and awkwardly tried to comfort her. " She's shopping for some things for supper."

Delight then stood up at once and scrambled out the door, hugging Meg's legs before doing so. Meg was at a loss for words for what seemed like the hundredth time that week. She decided to keep their meeting under her hat, just for the sake of all their sanity.

Of course, the neighborhood had been absolutely humming with gossip ever since the debacle at the ball. Some of the rumors ranged from the wildly outlandish to the nearly true, much to the amusement of Gabriel de Fassine.

At the current moment, she was strolling down the street in her Sunday best, arm in arm with some lucky fool who seemed shocked just to be enjoying her company. Once again, nobody had traced the tale back to her, so it was pure leisure to sit back and watch the train wreck continue. What was done was done, and there was not a fiber of remorse in her entire being. That's what made being a snake fun.

As she strutted down one of the fancier areas of town, Gabriel noted that the de Chagney residence was coming up fast. She suppressed a chortle when she saw other couples stopping to stare at their house. What's more, there seemed to be loud bouts of drunken singing floating out the windows. Her beau made a snide comment, but she took no note of it, already wrapped up in the uproar she'd caused. _This is too much!_ She hooted inwardly.

" No, you're _my _best friend, and there's nothing to do about it." Raoul slurred, letting out a series of comical hiccups in between each word. The bottles of whiskey Russell had brought were long gone, so the pair had cracked open the ancient liquor cabinet that stood collecting dust in the study. Both were quite drunk and very ruddy in the face.

" Ah, shaddap and sing that song again. It's h-hilarious!" Russell roared gleefully, failing to stifle a window-rattling belch. Raoul jabbed a finger at one of the five Russells he was seeing and began, " I- I can't remember it right now. My god, am I smashed, and it's not even evening yet!" Russell took another swig, thoughtfully mulling over the liquid. " Hey, it's not me who has to be worried about a public image." At this, Raoul pounded his bottle down with a strident thump. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself. What would his mother say? What would Philippe think? What would Christine do?

Russell sensed a problem and let his tankard pound to the table also. " Worried? And you consider yourself a man. You're an embarrassment." His words grew steadily sharper, each syllable holding more bite. " Your wife runs off with a ghost and your reputation is shattered. Why are you sorry? You should be angry! Be angry, you damn bunny rabbit!"

Come to think of it, he was angry. No, angry was an understatement. He was _livid_. He was suddenly trembling with adrenaline, teeth bared like a wolf. Never before had he felt like this, crazed with anger. " You're right, Russ. Dead right. Somebody has to pay for this." Russell clapped his hands mockingly.

" Good thinking. How about that tramp of yours? We could send her bolting out of France like the devil was at her heels."

Raoul frowned. " Don't talk about her like that. I could never hurt her." His companion rolled his bloodshot eyes. Words weren't necessary for this. " Alright, no revenge for Miss Daae. Hmm. What about, whassisname, Erik?" Raoul perked up, brow furrowed in heavy thought. It made sense. Who better to pin the blame on? The words alone were pure music. " Erik. Erik. That bastard, he's the one who needs to pay!" There was that nasty little voice in the back of his head that kept saying, _Catch and kill the Phantom? Fat chance._ The idea was sublime in its perfection. All it would take was a little coaxing on his behalf.

Erik brooded silently, steamed over the hurtful things Cecile had said. " She's right. It's all my fault." He kept repeating that phrase until the words had lost their meaning. He only wished there were some way to help her, to restore her flattened reputation and place in society. She couldn't hide at the opera house forever.

After what seemed like weeks, Erik picked himself up and slumped into the main chamber, only to find it empty. " Delli?" her name echoed around the cavern eerily. To his indescribable horror, the boat had vanished. She was gone!

" Oh, my god," his daughter didn't even know how to swim. The girl could have drowned hours ago.

Not hesitating, he jumped into the water and waded as fast as possible to the opposite banks, desperately searching for Delight. She was not there, but the boat was neatly tethered and the oar discarded in the lake. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the fear for her came back when he remembered that there was an entire world out there that could do so much worse to a lone five-year old girl. She had to be found. But first, there were other people who had to know of her absence.


	9. That 1870's Show

Ch. 9: That 1870's Show

Constable Heaurs strutted down the cobblestone street in his normal fashion, pausing to glare at anyone who looked remotely suspicious. Usually, the streets of a dying day in the heart of Paris weren't a particularly safe place, with thugs and other lowlifes abroad in droves. Heaurs knew this fact up and down and believed it was his idea to keep citizens safe. At the current moment, the street he was patrolling was deserted and he began to feel irritated when the sun began to set to cast the road a bloody red hue behind ominous storm clouds. It had been a slow night, and slow nights were not a favorite of his.

When he was about to head home to a presumably cold supper, things began to pick up. A young woman was scurrying as fast as her painfully heavy frock would allow, holding a basket of doomed baguettes above her head for shelter. The first droplets began to fall moments later. Heaurs approached the flustered girl, puffing out his chest in an authorative manner. " Excuse me, Mademoiselle?" he boomed, presuming her status by her bare ring finger. " You'd better get home. Night isn't a kind friend to lovely creatures such as yourself." She nodded dumbly, hurrying in her way after muttering some respective phrase. The constable twirled his nightstick around his chubby index finger, whistling pompously. It was almost comical to see someone who's as in much trouble as miss Daae in public, but he was never one to make rash judgments. He wasn't fond of the de Chagneys himself, for Philippe had been rather impudent of the law before his death five years ago.

As the sun continued to sink behind the horizon, the night grew more boring with each passing moment, so Heaurs pulled out a half-empty carton of cigarettes and lit up. He continued to mull over the lackluster events of the evening when a small hand yanked on his trousers. A small girl with midnight curls and piercing green eyes stared up at him, examining him disappointedly. Heaurs cleared his throat loudly once more.

" Can I help you, darling?" The little girl seemed angered by his namby-pamby tone. " As a matter of fact, yes, you can. Can you tell me where the de Chagney's residence is?" Her question seemed more like an insult than a query. The constable gave her the same look she always received: utter surprise and confusion. He jammed a finger down the street dumbly, struggling for words.

" They live on Elderflower Street, just take a left twice and it's the big red brick manor on the corner. You can't miss it." He didn't bother to dumb it down for her. She seemed pretty sharp anyway.

She nodded primly and muttered halfhearted thanks before scrambling away with the directions in mind. Heaurs chuckled, and then went silently on his way. His shift was nearing a close, and he could only pray nobody tried to cause a fuss on his watch.

As the lamplighter made his stormy way down the street, a figure clad in jet black raced down the street, calling something in Swedish. When the figure caught sight of him, it skidded to a halt, panting for breath. Heaurs crossed his arms and examined the winded man. He wore a mask and black gloves, giving him the echoed appearance of a shadow. The policeman narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He knew there was something familiar about this character.

When the disconcerted man finally managed to regain his breath, he choked out, " Help me, please, I've lost my-" He was abruptly cut off when the constable's nightstick thwacked him in the temple, knocking him out cold. Heaurs let out a triumphant roar, waving his stick like Excalibur. " Yes!" The foolish man couldn't believe it. He had caught the phantom of the opera. Wallowing in his glory, Heaurs took the unconscious Erik by the underarms and dragged him off to the police station. The chief would be so proud.

When Erik finally came to, he was lying facedown in a squalid jail cell. Heaurs was pompously slurping down a frothy draft beer. Erik tried to sit up, but cried out when a shooting pain raced up the back of his skull. Much to his horror, a red stain had pooled where he had lain moments before. He threw himself against the bars, yelling curses too profane to repeat at the lounging policeman. Heaurs continued to sip his beverage, appearing not to hear a word Erik had said. Wiping a trickle of stubborn blood from the nape of his neck, Erik stopped yelling and tried to find words that would perhaps persuade this bastard to set him free.

" Look, I know I'm probably the catch of a career, and you'll probably want grandchildren just to tell them the story, but I have a problem." He struggled to keep the torrential anger out of his voice. " My daughter ran away. She's only five. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her." Heaurs flinched at this statement, spitting out a mouthful of beer. " _You_ have a daughter? Surely you jest."

" I assure you, I tell the truth."

The constable rubbed his temples and sighed melodramatically. This just had to happen on his watch. That's the way it always was, he being the ass of everything.

" You have anyone who could vouch for you? Like a relative or something?" He snorted at " relative". Erik retreated to the back of his cell, lost in possibility. Madame Giry would die before getting him out of prison. He had no relation, apart from Delight. What choice was there? Rot in jail for the next thirty years, or ask an enemy fro help. The latter began to sound like a good idea at the moment.

" Yes, erm, go to Raoul de Chagney. We're old chums."

At the moment, Raoul was lying on his kitchen table, bare chested, half passed out. Russell was snoring loudly beneath the table, curled up in a gigantic ball. Raoul was no longer drunk, but suffering from a pounding hangover. He almost felt like the whole ceiling had collapsed on his head, leaving him visibly scarless.

As he lay there, he continued to think about how his whole world had collapsed at his party. That bitch, Gabriel, had ruined everything. He could have lived in happy naivety for the rest of his life, and never cared. The poor man would have sold his soul for ignorance. Why, oh why?

The doorbell suddenly rang, sending another throbbing sensation through his confused head. " Sophie, answer the door!" Raoul called into the gloom. He fell off the table, remembering that Sophie had left for the week and padded barefoot to the doorway.

" Hello?"

He looked down, eyes widening comically. Delight stared up at him with repulsion, tossing her curls shrewdly. Her pink cheeks were streaked with dirt and tears, and her blue dress was torn in several places. " Hello. You may not remember me, but we have met before. I'm Delight, but don't call me that." Blank stares. " It was about three months ago." A light bulb seemed to flick on in his mind when a look of recognition crossed his visage. " Delli, how are you?" He tried to feign happiness, failing miserably. " I can't complain. May I see Christine, please?" His false contentment evaporated at once. He slammed the door behind him, crouching down so he was eye to eye with the child.

" Listen, she isn't here, and she probably won't be back for a very long time. You should go home. I'm sure your mother misses you." At this, Delli sat down on the stoop and buried her chin in her grimy hands. " I don't have a mother." Raoul made a sympathetic cluck with his tongue. "What about your father? Surely he must care."

" He's being foolish right now. He came home and locked himself in his room. I might not know much, but it doesn't take a fool to see that he loves her."

" Who?"

Delight made a noise like it was the most obvious thing in the world. " Christine."

What little color that was left in his face drained at this simple statement. There was no way, _no way…_

Before he could respond, a breathless messenger boy came up and tapped Raoul on his bare shoulder.

" Sir, you are wanted at the prison. An old friend requires your presence. An Erik fellow" Raoul stood up like a man in a trance and stuffed a twenty-franc note in the boy's coat. Without a word, he took Delight by the hand and started off toward the prison.

" So, you got anything to eat?" Erik implied sarcastically, fanning himself with his hand. Although it was winter, it was damn hot in the cell. Heaurs banged his nightstick against the bars in response, and Erik in turn broke the nightstick. The policeman roared in fury, spraying bits of cheese danish all over the place.

" I'll take that as a no."

Another policeman then walked in shyly. " Um, Monsieur de Chagney is here." Heaurs quickly stuffed the remainder of his dinner into his mouth and motioned wildly for them to come in. Erik sat straight up and made himself look as innocent as possible. Raoul stalked through the door, narrowing his eyes at the sight of Erik. Definitely not a good omen.

Erik started off explaining himself in some kind of gibberish, but Raoul put up his hand to silence him.

" We'll talk bail as soon as we talk about _this._" At the end of the statement, Delight walked slowly from behind staring at the floor ashamedly.

" Oh god."


	10. A Phantasy World No longer pt 1

Sorry this took so loooooooong! I just moved and am still unpacking. I just hope I do this right.

Ch. 10: A Phantasy World No Longer

Part one

"Oh, God."

" I'm waiting, Erik. Explain this!" Raoul spat the word "this" like a disgusting curse word, roughly shaking Delight by the arm. The man in the cell threw himself against the bars of the degrading prison, bending a few bars in the process. "Don't touch her. Don't you dare touch her you goddamn son of a-" Raoul put up a hand to silence him, only making Erik all the angrier. Heaurs eagerly jammed the rest of his cheese danish. "I asked you a question. Answer me!" His visage was twisted with rage, an ugly portico of jealousy and mistrust. Delight was whimpering quietly. Her father noticed her arm was turning purple under Raoul's grip. It gave him pain to see the four of them in such a dire situation.

"I-I'm not saying a word without Christine."

Raoul flinched at his wife's name, but didn't say a word. Somewhere in his subconscious, he always imagined she had something to do with him even after their marriage. Without a word, he passed a small bag of coins to the fat policeman, who eagerly caught it like a hungry dog would a scrap of gristle. "Go. Bring her here. It's raining. She's probably at that little café near Rue de Fallise. Don't…harm her." Heaurs waddled out the door and left the three of them to the long, hateful silence ahead.

Christine ran through the streets, utilizing her basket of ruined baguettes as a crude umbrella. She searched frantically for a shelter from the pouring rain. It was late at night and the streets of Paris were, as the ruddy policeman had said, were not a guiltless friend. A familiar café presented itself and she gratefully ducked inside. It was deserted, apart from a pair of women whispering in the corner. The girl seated herself nearby the pair I hopes of joining their conversation. It was just too much to be alone at this point in her life, and there was really nobody she could talk to. This was quite literal, for Meg had buried herself in work around the opera house after Darryl stopped calling, much to everybody's immense surprise, Madame Giry was too emotionally emaciated to talk much, all of her friends prior to her marriage seemed to have drifted away, and the ones after her marriage were caught up in the rumor of her infidelity, and, well, you just couldn't talk to men, even ones you had once been intimate with.

An exhausted-looking waitress handed her a cold cup of tea. She nodded her thanks and sipped it with a look of forced enjoyment on her face. As she continued to force down the drink, Christine began to listen to the women's conversation.

"It's quite nice to be back in Paris, but I shall miss the lovely climate of Spain. The weather here is so _dreary_, Evelyn." Her sister nodded behind a mouthful of buttered croissant. "Too right you are. Can you believe it's already been six years since our brother was taken from us?" Indeed, both of the women were garbed in black mourning dresses and veils. Christine leaned closer, not noticing her tea spilling all over her calf.

"Oh, dear. How are we going to tell our baby brother that we've just up and come back to town? I think he still has a grudge against us for telling father that Philippe committed suicide. Poor Philippe did kill himself, but Raoul has this ludicrous story of some madman murdering him."

And suddenly, the sou dropped noisily in her head. These were Raoul's estranged sisters! Before she could creep quietly back into the night, they spotted her and zeroed in like a pair of raptors.

"Christine, dearest, is that you? Why are you lurking in the corner? Come here, you look chilled to the bone! Have some tea!" This was strange. Gladys and Evelyn were being kind to her. They were always kind to her, but she didn't expect this, not with the trouble between her and Raoul. They probably hadn't heard of such things yet.

"Gladys, stop stuffing your face and offer Christine some éclairs. You mustn't always eat until the chair breaks."

"Oh, do hush. Now, Christine, tell us what's news. How's Raoul?" They both looked at her with the same baby blue eyes that her husband had. "He's, uh, well," Her words got tangled on the tongue and refused to come out right. The de Chagney sisters had a look of calm patience on their faces, but all turned quickly in relief when the door swung open.

Heaurs strutted through the threshold, brandishing one of Christine's ruined baguettes like a rapier. "Miss Daae? Come with me." He boomed, tipping his cap to the stunned sisters. "You are wanted at the precinct. Raoul and some moron named Erik require your presence to settle a dispute. Might want to wrap up those éclairs. This might be a long night and the little one is hungry.

At this, Christine's heart skipped a beat. It was her worst nightmares come true. She wanted to bolt like a frightened doe, but knew better than to try and run from the police, so she silently wrapped the delicacies in a napkin and bid her farewells to the awestruck sisters.

After she had left, Evelyn struck up enough presence of mind to say, "Such a nice girl isn't she?" Gladys nodded her consent, but the rest of the midnight tea passed in awkward silence.

All three waiting individuals stood bolt upright when Heaurs returned to the tiny room where the threesome killed time. Delight ran forward and hugged Christine's legs tightly, speaking quickly in Swedish of how she missed her. The policeman dutifully led her to a bench and tossed the éclairs over his shoulder before leading her to the cell with the masked man.

"What's going on?" she tried her best to maintain a low tone of voice, though she was itching to scream in mortal terror. Erik gave her a poignant look.

"Honestly, Christine. How stupid do you think I am?" Raoul was shredding his handkerchief between his fingers. Perhaps he really wasn't as stupid as any of us would have guessed !.

All four of them looked over at Heaurs, who was standing by for further information like a gossipy adolescent. "Monsieur, if you please." Delight said with a hint of a scoff. Heaurs scowled at her and stalked out of the room. The little girl sneered at his back and returned to her bench, not aware of the magnitude of the situation.

"Now let's see, where were we?" Raoul placed another éclair in Delight's small hands and crouched down beside her. She gave him a disdainful look.

"Darling, would you kindly tell us your name again? I'm afraid my memory isn't what it used to be."

"My name is Delight." The child said simply through a mouthful of sweets.

"Charming. What's your last name?" She looked at like he had begun speaking Russian. "I don't have a last name, like Homer or Quasimodo."

"Ah. Indeed. Is that your father over there?" he jerked his thumb towards the cell occupants. Christine tightened her white-knuckled grip on the bars."

"Yes, that's him. Why are you asking me all these silly questions? Let me ask a few." Raoul looked ruffled at this statement, but nodded quickly anyway.

"Your name is Raoul, is it not? If it is, I think my papa has something against you." Everybody looked over at Erik, who shrugged nonchalantly. It was he could do not to laugh at his own unfortunate condition. Raoul looked ready to pop like Carlotta after she downed a whole bottle of wine at the Christmas gala. "Right then."

Delight looked fairly amused. "Question two: why did you answer the door half naked reeking of whiskey? Does the Viscount himself have lapses in mannerism? Well, tell me something I don't know." Instead of a muffled snort, both Erik and Christine laughed uproariously. The questionee flushed a terrible shade of crimson. "Why you horrible little brute! Enough of this idle twaddle! I'm asking the questions here!" he pounded his fist on the table, upsetting a few mugs of cold coffee. Everybody immediately hushed up.

"I'm through asking questions, but I have one last one for my friend Erik here. Why did you steal an innocent child from that unwitting mother? Have you no soul? Have you any idea what that girl did to herself after she found that empty cradle? Drowned herself, she did! And Christine, why on earth did you help him?"

The two adults in the cell let out a noise of frustration and relief. Perhaps he wasn't as smart as her almost seemed to be. Raoul had apparently mixed up a kidnapping of a few years ago with the truth that nobody wanted to speak. "We didn't steal her, you moron. She really is my child. You really are stupider that I made you out to be." Raoul ignored the insult and continued. "But… if she is yours, who's the mother? I know there has to be a mother. That much I know is necessary." Erik folded his arms haughtily.

"That is my personal business, not for greaseball politicians such as you to know. Let us out of here."

"You're not leaving until this girl's mother comes into the room, looks me straight in the eye and tells me that Delight is indeed hers. Send for whoever needed. I mean it. We're staying here until I meet her."

"Let me out and you can meet her right now." Christine stammered.

Silence.

"What?"

End of part one.


End file.
